


Love is a Compromise

by kayisdreaming



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Fluff and Angst, Golden Deer with only Felix and Annette recruited of the Blue Lions, Post-Canon, relationships can be hard when you don't have a war to focus on anymore, spoilers are super minor but tagged anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24744172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayisdreaming/pseuds/kayisdreaming
Summary: Dorothea smiled. "You know, I think it's sweet that you're having normal relationship problems."Felix's fork hit his plate with more violence than strictly necessary. "If you're here to mock me, I'm leaving.""Look," she said, teasing gone in her tone, "relationships are hard. I should know. So maybe I can help. But I can't if you don't tell me anything."With a sigh, he glanced away. "She wanted me to do something stupid." To be fair, a lot of things were dumb to Felix."Well," manicured nails tapped against the wooden table. "Any good relationship takes . . . compromise."Now Felix just had to figure out whose turn it was to compromise. And whether or not it was actually worth it.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic & Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 6
Kudos: 64





	Love is a Compromise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ToloHawk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToloHawk/gifts).



“—and those were just the last _four_ complaints I received in the last month, Mr. Fraldarius.” Byleth sighed, placing the paper back down on her desk. She leaned back in her chair, rubbing at her temples. Green eyes accused him in a way her tone still couldn't.

Felix bit his tongue till it hurt. There were a million things he could say, a million things he wanted to. But every argument had ended in utter failure each time he had been summoned here. It was pretty clear that arguing was pointless. So he figured he’d give disdainful silence a shot.

“I do understand. I was your professor, after all. This lifestyle must be difficult to adjust to. But . . .” She paused, lips pressed together. “The students won’t learn if you continue being so hard on them. If this continues, I may have to find a replacement for you.”

Felix snorted a response. He _was_ trying to get them to learn. Trying to make them better. It wasn’t his fault that half of them didn’t have the willpower or motivation to properly apply themselves. And it certainly didn't help that most of their prior experience with a sword was drawn in a book.

She slammed her hand on the table, standing. “You aren’t proving anything by crushing them in the training ground. This isn’t a competition. If you want someone to compete with, then compete with the knights or the other instructors. I’m sure you can pretend to be an adult in the interim.”

He grimaced. He wasn’t _trying_ to compete—what competition could be had against a group of incompetent, untrained teenagers? No, he just wanted them to be ready, at least as much at they could be. As much as Felix and the others hadn’t been. “I—”

No, wait, that wasn’t right. When he was young, there had always been war on the horizon. The relationship between the countries was tenuous at best. The classes could smile and talk all they’d liked, but it had never changedfact that they’d have to kill each other someday. And they all knew it. That was the whole premise of the Academy, after all. Those who improved themselves the most in the art of war were most likely to survive.

But it was different now. Slowly, Fodlan was healing over old wounds and forging ties with the other countries. The Academy was no longer designed for war—it was a pursuit of knowledge, a means to learn and improve. At worst, the teens would face bandits, or quarrel over potential romances, or fight in tourneys. Nothing with as much . . . imminent death as he had faced at their age.

He sighed, running his fingers through his bangs. “I’ll consider it.”

Byleth’s expression softened. “Please do. It would be unfortunate if we lost you.”

With a nod, he turned and left her office. It had been Rhea’s, once. But that was also before this place had become more the Academy, and less the Monastery. The chapel still remained, but the rest of it had become significantly . . . less religious. It still wasn't well-accepted, but at least there was no more contention in Gareg Mach itself. Which meant Felix didn't need to care.

He stepped into the neighboring room, eyes scanning over the few occupants here. Byleth had repurposed the Audience Chamber, where Rhea had once only received a select few. It was now a sort of faculty area—a place where the instructors could rest, bring their students, exchange ideas . . . in a space quite a bit larger than their personal offices. It was meant to encourage a sort of community among the staff . . . though Felix certainly saw no point in lingering.

“Felix!” A pair of arms wrapped around one of his armsthe second he stepped into the faculty room.

Felix glanced down at the biggest surprise among this avalanche of change. A bright fireball of energy, still so enthusiastic to see him even though they'd been working together for years. Even though she used to be absolutely petrified by his presence. Even though he still wasn't the most pleasant person to be around.

"You were in there for a long time." Annette smiled up at him, still clinging to his arm. "Everything okay?"

Well, technically it wasn't any different than the past. And he hadn't really supplied her many details on those encounters, either. Besides, what really mattered was that he hadn't yet been fired. "Fine."

"Well, if everything's fine," without warning, she half-skipped toward the exit, tugging hard on his arm, "come with me to the greenhouse!"

Felix didn't exactly resist, but he wasn't going to let her drag him along, either. There was nothing exactly appealing about sitting in a hot and humid room to look at flowers. Especially not after getting an hour-long lecture. "Not interested."

Annette pouted. Her eyes widened, and--if he didn't know better--he'd have thought she might cry. It was a potent weapon, certainly, but time and exposure had hardened him to its effects.

Her expression shifted the moment she realized her current strategy wasn't working. "What if," her lips shifted into the softest of smiles, "I sing while I tend to my little patch?"

He twitched. He could harden himself against the most pathetic looks, past the most pitiable whining, even beyond idle threats. But he absolutely could not brace himself against that sort of enticement. "Just for a little while." He sighed, this time following a rather insistent tug.

  
  


Felix leaned against the pillars, watching as Annette tended to her little patch. It took up only a small corner of the greenhouse, separate from the other plants that the students tended to. Not that it was especially different from the rest, but . . . well, it was significant. Meaningful.A flower for everyone they'd lost. Everyone they'd left behind.

In this spot, he was less likely to startle any of the other students coming in to handle their chores, but it wasn't like he didn't want to.It wouldn't be a bad thing to scare them off of Annette's patch; already it had been reduced to a nearly unsalvageable state by overeager students, wielding their watering cans with too much freedom and too little caution. True, one of those times was from Annette being overenthusiastic and . . . well, characteristically overdoing everything, but certainly the other times had been them.

And this was too precious to her for it to die from carelessness. But, as she didn't care for his hostility, he kept it to himself. Most of the time.

Annette was half-humming, half-singing as she danced around the garden beds. "Seedlings in the garden . . . grow and sprout and get some sunshine . . . sleeping in the dark ground . . . is such a silly thing . . . to do!"

Felix watched as she went from flower to flower, still humming the tune, even though it was clear she hadn't really thought on the other lyrics. A word here or there slipped out, but nothing significant. Endearing, though, all the same.

"If that doesn't make them grow faster," Felix said with a smirk, "I'll eat my boot."

Annette spun around, giggling. "That's a lot of boot, Felix. You might want to eat your sword instead."

He tried to resist the small smile and failed. "That might take a while."

"I'd help you." Her laughs continued, arms wrapping around him. "It'd be my fault after all."

He hummed a response, gaze instinctively flicking across the room. It wasn't like this thing between them was a secret, but still he was uncomfortable with the thought of being . . . public. The thoughts of a hundred eyes on him, questioning, analyzing, finding him unworthy of human sunshine, it was . . . unsettling.

But it was close enough to dinnertime, so no one was around, no one coming in. They could have this intimacy in peace. He could, for the moment, lower his guard.

His gaze flicked over the garden bed. Well, perhaps he couldn't let it down completely. "You dropped the watering can."

She squeaked, immediately spinning around and very nearly dragging him with her. Her grasp released just in the nick of time, fortunately. As he stumbled, he imagined he was only granted freedom so she could grab the can with both hands . . . though that didn't really undo the fact that it had fallen directly into the patch and emptied entirely.

"Feliiiix." She cried out, shaking the can like it might suddenly reveal hidden water. "It's empty!"

He stepped closer, looking over her shoulder. The soil was drenched, but he was pretty sure the seedlings and flowers wouldn't be ruined. At least not with this amount.Some of the new seeds had definitely followed the water flow though, meaning they'd grow into a rather tangled mess later. Probably.

"Oh, I messed up." She muttered, looking at the can in disdain.

"It's fine." Felix plucked the can from her hands, placing it on the nearby shelf. "They'll be fine."

From his angle, he could see just the beginning of her pout reforming, lip sticking out in a rather adorable way. She glared down at the dirt as if sheer willpower could dry the dirt.

He was bad at people, but he knew a need for a distraction when he saw one.

"Let's get dinner." He took her hand in his, giving just the gentlest of tugs toward the exit. A suggestion in a way that his tone couldn't ever properly express.

But she didn't come with. Instead, she glanced up at him shyly through her lashes, like they were teens again and she was trying to bribe him into forgetting that she could sing. "I actually wanted to talk to you about something. Before we go."

A question, in a private setting, that couldn't be said in a more public one. That didn't bode well.

Still, he shrugged. "I'm not stopping you."

"Well," With a rather hesitant twirl, she sat on the granite stone that defined the planters, "'Dorothea is leading this sort of . . . play. It's to get funds for the orphanages."

He blinked, leaning back against his pillar. "Ok."

"And she invited me to be a part of it."

"I didn't think you sang opera." Of course, the image was rather entertaining. Annette in a burdensome amount of makeup, in a dress so overly elegant that it bordered on gaudy. Belting out a range that he was pretty sure she'd never sung before. In front of a crowd.

It was so impossible that it took all he had to stifle his smile.

"It's not . . ." Her eyebrows scrunched together as she thought, "I don't remember what Dorothea called it. It's like a play with singing, but not an opera. But there's still music in it. A . . . oh! A musical!"

Well, it wasn't an awful idea. Music could make even the most ridiculous concept enjoyable. At the very least, the music could serve as a distraction. He crossed his arms.

"She's actually letting me write something for it!" And there was that smile. Annette was practically glowing. "I get to do the words and the general rhythm, but she's gonna fine tune it so it fits with the rest. Isn't that great?"

He couldn't help but return her smile, even though his was comparitively slight. "I'm happy for you."

"Oh! _And_ she gave me a part! I get to be her handmaiden. I get my own song and everything. It's the one I'm writing, of course."

"Are you . . ." he blinked, "comfortable singing in front of people?"

She shrunk a little, glancing away. "Well . . . not entirely. But there will be others there too . . . and it's for a good cause . . ." She brought her hands into her lap, fingers lacing and unlacing. "I, um, would be more comfortable with you there with me."

"If you wanted me to attend, you just had to ask."

"It's . . ." she cleared her throat, "I actually wanted you to perform with me."

He twitched so violently that it very nearly sent him tumbling off the pillar. "I am _not_ singing."All the annoyance of the day had piled back on, sitting on his words like venom. He winced with immediate regret.

She startled, tension clear in her shoulders. She looked even more away, staring at the flowers. "Not . . . singing."

He snorted, trying to reorient himself against the pillar and keep himself under control. "I have absolutely nothing to offer."

"We-ell," Her tone lilted in a way that set every nerve on edge, "you did that really neat dance for the White Heron Cup. The one with the sword? I think that would fit nicely."

"Absolutely not."

" _Felix_ , you were a dancer through our Academy days! And you were good at it! It'd be perfect."

"And my students would never respect me again." He managed to avoid the sneer, but it could only be reduced to a scowl.

"Oh, come _on_." She stood rather dramatically, the whole motion emphasized by a rather childish stomp. "You have to stop worrying what everyone thinks of you!"

"Says the girl convinced I wanted to blackmail her for singing."

Annette's face fully flushed. But she didn’t look embarrassed; she actually began to look annoyed. "I sing for you now! All the time!"

He didn't bother mentioning that it took a war, years of being apart, and then another two years of coercing and embarrassing himself just to get her to do _that_. "You _like_ singing. I don't enjoy dancing."

The color drained away immediately, and her attention snapped to him. Her expression had fallen to something . . . hesitant, concerned. "Then why did you do it?"

"A means to an end." He huffed, crossing his arms. "And no one could say no to the Professor."

In truth, he had been rather proud of the fact that he had won the competition. That he had decimated his rivals--even against Dorothea and Sylvain. Plus, dancing _had_ made him a better swordsman. It improved his reflexes, honed his sensibilities. It was harder for people to hit him, and easier for him to absolutely destroy others. If it hadn't been for that stupid competition, he was fairly certain that he wouldn't still be standing here.

But he would never admit that. And he would _never_ let anyone think he enjoyed it.

“Of course, right.” Annette rubbed her face, sighing. “Goddess forbid you actually have fun with anything.”

“If I enjoyed anything,” he huffed, “it _wouldn’t_ be dancing.”

“But . . . not even if we were doing it together?”

“No.”

Her expression crumpled completely, head dipping. Her hands dropped from in front of her. “Okay.”

“Good.” He shook his head, standing straighter. “Let’s just leave this stupid matter behind us and get dinner.”

She frowned. “You, uh, you go ahead. I still have some . . . some work to do.”

“Ann—” He couldn’t even finish her name before she bolted out of the greenhouse. Startled, he went to follow her, but she was too quickly out of sight. He tried to guess where she might be, all to no avail. And no one was willing to help the angry swordsman. That night, he ate dinner alone.

  
  


The next day, he ate alone as well. And the day after that.

For a brief moment, it had been tolerable. He could convince himself that she was busy. It was the time of year when students began to pursue certification exams. When they began to get a better idea of who they were and who they wanted to be. So he could very easily pretend that it was coincidence, not their fight, that kept her away. That it was just a bit of exhaustion that kept her from smiling at him.

But he could only play the fool for so long—it wasn’t exactly his forte. After all, he had been fairly decent at avoiding people in his youth. Which meant he knew what it meant when she turned the other way the second she saw him. Or that she changed her schedule so her meals overlapped with his classes, so that they couldn't cross paths in the most public places. Or that she must have redirected her conversations a dozen times just so she didn’t even have to stand in the same room as him.

It was a childish game for a stupid argument. And as time went on, Felix just found himself more and more irate. If she was doing this to try and guilt him into conceding, she could try elsewhere. He wasn’t a child who could be so easily swayed. And he absolutely wasn’t going to apologize for something he didn’t feel guilty about.

“This seat taken?” The voice was so annoyingly sweet that Felix could tell who it was immediately.

He glanced up at Dorothea with a scathing glare. “If she sent you to convince me, you can forget it.”

Dorothea's laughter ran like a bell, hammering on the inside of his skull. “I only asked if I could sit here. Brooding by yourself can’t be fun.”

He scowled, returning his attention to his meal. Normally he'd like this sort of thing--prefer it, even--but it just didn't taste the same when he was so so irritated. "Do what you want."

"You know," She sat down across from him, placing her plate on the table, "I thought you and I were past this."

Well, they _were_ on speaking terms. And he didn't see her as the same kind of menace that he used to. But she was still definitely a menace. He took a pointed bite. "What do you want?"

"Well, I haven't been in the area for a while, and I wanted to see how my favorite moody swordsman was doing." She rested her chin in her palm with a hum. "I'd heard that you'd been less broody with someone to be sweet on, but . . ."

He glared up at her. "Who told you that?"

"Oh, you know. It's big news when the sword instructor actually smiles."

"Hmph."

She leaned against the table, face coming closer to his. She offered a playful smile. "Aw, did you two have a fight?"

He stared at her for a long time. If this was a ploy, it was a cruel one. While he doubted that Annette would put her up to this, he was certain that Dorothea would take it on herself if there was even the slightest complaint. The brunette did tend to be exceedingly overprotective when it came to the other girls. So he had no doubt she would easily cast Felix the villain and try to 'convince' him to right the situation.

But, at least in this case, it seemed like Dorothea was sincere. She watched him patiently, smile still on her lips.

With a heavy sigh, he glanced away. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Felix, it can't be that bad."

He frowned, focusing on eating his meal. One bite at a time, hoping she'd get the hint. And, after a few more failed prodding attempts, she did. She began to eat her own meal in silence. In his periphery, he could see her glance up at him once or twice. But so long as he didn't make eye contact, it seemed safe.

That was, until he made the mistake of looking up, and his gaze caught hers. Her eyebrow raised in a way that reminded him far too much of their teenage years. He groaned in frustration.

"It's just a stupid argument. She's mad I said no."

Though slight, Dorothea's shoulders relaxed. Her smile slipped into something far more natural. "You know, I think it's sweet that you're having normal relationship problems."

"I'm so glad my troubles amuse you."

"Hey! I'm not saying I enjoy it." Her cheeks puffed out. "I'm just saying that it really wouldn't have been unexpected for you to marry your sword or something."

His fork hit his plate with more violence than strictly necessary. "If you're here to mock me, I'm leaving."

Her hand shot across the table far quicker than he anticipated, fingers curling into his sleeve. "Look," she said, teasing gone in her tone, "it's been a while. You know I mean well. I just . . . maybe now's not the right time."

He snorted a response.

Her grip loosened, but didn't release entirely. "Relationships are hard. I should know. So maybe I can help. But I can't if you don't tell me anything."

Felix looked at her hand, then along her arm back to her face. With a sigh, he glanced away. "She wanted me to do something stupid."

"Oh." She blinked, like those words were difficult to process. To be fair, a lot of things were dumb to Felix.

"Yeah."

"Well," slowly, she pulled her hand away. Manicured nails tapped against the wooden table. "Any good relationship takes . . . compromise. Even if it's something you absolutely _hate_."

Hate wasn't a sufficient word. Dancing was embarrassing, shameful. Like spitting on his training and experience and heritage. Others had laughed when they saw him in that stupid outfit, and he was pretty sure the laughter was what inspired them to move, rather than his dancing. Sure, it _had_ helped when he was still learning, but the hit to his pride had been a heavy price to pay.

Dorothea chuckled. "It must have been bad for you to make _that_ face."

He twitched, dragging a hand over his eyes. ". . . sorry."

"Look, if you love her, then it will be worth it. I mean, you do love her, right?"

He fixed her with a glare.

"Thought so." She finished off her meal with a pointed bite. "Maybe it's not your turn to compromise. But it's not a bad thing to consider. Just in case."

He glanced down at his meal. There was still some left, but his appetite was gone now. "And if it's not my turn?"

Her smile was soft but sad. "You have to see if she loves you enough to compromise."

He frowned. "That's . . ."

"Hard, I know." She pat his hand, smile dazzling. "You're a big boy. I know you can take it."

  
  


Usually, training was a good way to get his mind working properly. To process everything that he couldn't handle or couldn't understand. There was something about the flow, about the certainty and inevitability of every strike that just helped him think.

But even that wasn't working. At least, not as much as he wanted.

He knew Dorothea was right. At some point, one of them was going to have to give. As dumb as the argument was, even he could see that their relationship wouldn't last if they couldn't come to an accord of some sort.

He was pretty sure that it wasn't really about the dancing part, or the musical, or anything like that. It was what that represented--whatever that was. All he could tell was that this was just . . . a tiny sliver of the actual problem. Just sharp enough to start cracking what they had built between them.

But if he didn't know what it was, that meant that he couldn't rightly figure out who was in the wrong. Who actually had to bend in this situation. He didn't want to--Goddess help him he'd rather be skinned alive--but he at least had to consider it. And her compromise would be . . .

This was stupid. It was too much thinking. Too much dancing around the actual problem. A part of him just wanted to storm up to her, demand to know what was wrong, and then just straight up solve it. Like a sane person . . . not like this . . . sentimental . . . stuff.

But Felix also knew she'd never answer to that. No, it would be far worse than anything else he'd done so far. At the very least, she'd take it as an accusation that it was all her fault. And he didn't want to do that, not to her.

He let out a slow exhale, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. This was pointless. Now his mind was swarming with a thousand incoherent thoughts _and_ he was covered in sweat. _And_ he still felt like his skin was crawling with too much energy reverberating in his bones, like he was still in the middle of battle with an imminent attack at any time. It was agonizing.

"Professor Fraldarius?" The voice that called to him from the Training Ground's entrance was meek, uncertain. Hardly loud enough to even merit notice.

Still, he stepped to the weapon rack, putting his training blade away. He didn't bother looking at the man. "What is it?"

"Lady Eisner, um, wishes to speak to you--w-when you have the opportunity."

He narrowed his eyes and glared at the blade. Lovely. Like he wasn't already pissed off. And, considering his record, speaking with Byleth would only make it worse. But, unfortunately, it wasn't like he could say no. "I was done anyway."

He glanced over, scowling. The soldier twitched so violently that Felix could see it even from this distance. And, as he closed the gap between them, he easily noticed the way the man shrunk where he stood.

That was . . . new. Whatever. "Take me there."

"Y-yes sir."

Felix followed him out of the training ground, at least initially. But the soldier's pace was too slow, and the way he kept looking back at Felix was downright infuriating. It was like he was expecting Felix to run away, or to stab him in the back, or something else equally stupid.

Soon enough, Felix's already incredibly minuscule patience blinked out of existence, and he shoved his way past the soldier. "I'll get there myself." He said, voice just barely a step past a growl.

He didn't wait to hear what the soldier had to say, didn't bother to acknowledge whatever was yelled in his direction. He just followed the straightforward path of the halls, ignoring everyone he passed. They all had similar expressions, all looking at him like he might stab them at any moment.

He was quick to determine that it would be far too irritating to address it, and better if he tried to convince himself that he just didn't give a damn. He'd take it out on a training dummy later.

When he arrived in Byleth's office, he was pretty sure that at least 3 dummies would have to take the toll.

There was Annette, chattering away happily with their former professor. Of course--just like it had for days--her mood dissolved the second he stepped in. No more chatter, no more talking. Just looking at absolutely anything else but him.

Fine. He could play that game.

He looked to Byleth, hand on his hip. He kept his focus on her, not even sparing a glance at Annette. Though he wanted to know her response, it was better to remain centered, committed. "You summoned me?"

Byleth's uncomfortably piercing gaze shifted from him, to Annette, then back to him. When they were students, her emotionless gaze had been somewhat unsettling. Now, though, while her expressions were much more identifiable, it just always seemed that she could see right through him. Still pretty unsettling, but he had grown used to it. Idly, a part of him wondered what she saw.

Whatever it was, she disregarded it, leaning back in her chair. "Patrols have noticed a minor grouping of bandits outside of Gareg Mach. While they're not an immediate threat to the students or the village, they are causing some problems for merchants. I would like you to handle it. You--"

"You know," Felix turned his head away with a scoff, "we aren't your knights."

"I am aware." She laced her fingers together, thumbs brushing slowly against each other. "The knights still have a reputation for . . . enforcing the church's will. I would rather not involve them for this sort of matter."

Well, that was true enough. The knights were often sent just to handle those small patches of the Slithering folk, and never anything minor. Already they were explicitly forbidden from partaking in any other remotely political matters.

The delicacy of their position had resulted in Felix being sent out a few times already. Up to this point, it was to oversee any squabbles between territories. Just making sure they weren't going to kill each other, and to get in the way if it started getting more involved. Once or twice, he was sent out to handle some demonic beasts.

True, he loved taking any chance he could to use his blade. It was satisfying to see his skills actually put to use. Thrilling to see that he hadn't fallen into ineptitude by the complacency of his position. So he was happy to take on any job offered even remotely in his direction.

But that was for _himself_. He had no desire to pull Annette there with him.

He worked hard to keep Annette out of the field. She had become a professor of sorcery to help people enjoy the wonder of magic, to give them that guiding hand that could only come from one who had struggled with the material themselves. She wanted to make magic seem, well, magical again--not just a tool of war. She wanted to make the Academy a learning environment, a happy place--where she could cook, and sing to herself without worry, and dance, and . . . well . . . everything.

He had no doubt that she would be happy to never be in a battlefield again.

When neither he nor Annette responded, Byleth continued. "A matter like this can become a problem for the town and the academy. As the Academy's representatives, and as those who are teaching the students how to defend others, it only makes sense that--"

"You can count on us!" Annette chirped, voice light as if she had been merely asked to water the gardens. "We'll handle it before they even know what hit them!"

Anger immediately forgotten, Felix's gaze snapped to Annette. She had to be joking.

No . . .no she wasn't. There was that little crease between her brows, the slightest quirk of her lips. Determined and confident. And still not looking at him at all.

"Thank you." Byleth said, voice soft. "I know it's a bit of a surprise but--"

"Get it done quickly, right?" That quirk on Annette's lips shifted into something brighter. "We'll take care of it before you even have to worry! Tomorrow, for sure!" Annette nodded, bouncing on her toes like her whole body had to nod, too.

Before Felix could even so much as open his mouth, she was leaving. He gaped a bit, looking back at his former professor. He hoped he didn't look as dumbstruck as he felt.

Byleth smiled, shaking her head as she watched Annette's retreating form fondly. She offered Felix a small nod. "I'm counting on you."

He took a step back, nodding. "Of course."

And then he half-sprinted to catch up with Annette. She had already fled from him a dozen times--he wasn't going to let her get away with that again after this performance. Fortunately, the path was straightforward--there was only one stairway, and only one hall from there. It was easy to catch up.

"What was that about?" He hissed, still just slightly behind. Her steps were quick, determined--but his legs were still longer.

"What was what about?" She asked. Her tone was almost the lilt of feigned innocence, but the forced nonchalance nearly smothered it.

He allowed himself a near-run, cutting her off before she rounded another corner. He spun around, blocking her path with his body, palm pressed firmly against the wall. Forcing her to stop. "Since when were you so eager for a fight?"

She glared up at him, looking very nearly as angry as he felt. Well, that was better than ignoring him, probably. "I'm not." She protested, petulant. She jabbed a finger at his chest. " _You_ always are."

He blinked. "What?"

"Always fighting. Never anything else!"

Felix scowled. "That's--"

"You'd run around as a mercenary if you could." She said, punctuating every third word with a jab of her finger.

This . . . wasn't what he had in mind for this conversation. _He_ hadn't expected to be on the defensive. "I'm not--"

She let out a frustrated noise that was somewhere between a growl and yell, exasperated in a way that felt like a punch to the gut. "You know, it wouldn't surprise me if one day you just decided that you were done with everything and me and just--and just vanished! Roam the countryside and---and---"

No, _that_ was the punch to the gut. He wasn't even sure he could manage words, feeling like all the air had been clawed out of his lungs. Did she really think--no, he couldn't even dwell on that. The very thought made his throat tighten, and his chest feel like it might be crushed.

He wasn't sure what he looked like, but he had pretty good idea that it echoed the expression on Annette's face. Eyes wide, face pale. She looked like she might cry at any moment--but he couldn't tell if it was from guilt or despair.

And then she turned away. "I . . . need to get some things for the mission." She muttered, voice barely above a whisper. "I'll see you tomorrow."

And then she fled. And Felix didn't chase.

  
  


\---

  
  


"Oh, um, one of these too." Annette said, passing a few more coins to the merchant. Four vulneraries, two concoctions, and now an antidote for good measure. True, she didn't exactly expect this battle to be tough--in the last year or so, the amount of bandits had dwindled extraordinarily, and those left were losing more power and control every day.

But it was always better to be safe than sorry. And if it was better to be safe, then it was best to be overly-safe. Even if Felix could probably take all of them on his own without even blinking.

Though she'd been trying for the last half hour, she couldn't keep her gaze from sliding to the nearby stall. As if on instinct, her attention shifted to the swords. In one of them, she could see her reflection. She wasn't quite scowling at it--it hadn't exactly done anything--but she certainly wasn't smiling her usual cheery smile, either.

Well, at least she didn't look half as bad as she felt, even though she did look tired. Her eyes were still a bit red, face a little puffy. She didn't quite have any bags under her eyes, but she didn't imagine she was too far from it.

Fortunately, Felix was bad at being observant, so he probably wouldn't be able to tell anyway. That was . . . if he decided to even look at her today. She really couldn't blame him if he didn't. Or if he already left without her, just to handle this on his own.

After all, she shouldn't have said what she did. Annette scolded herself all night, tossing and turning in her bed. His expression haunting her every time she closed her eyes. Eyes wide, lips parted, face immediately pale. Jolting back like she'd burned him.

It hadn't been fair to tell him, but it had been lingering in her mind for almost as long as she could remember. Gnawing at her every time he was gone too long in the field, even though he was training his students. Or when he didn't join her for dinner because he got distracted sharpening his sword, or practicing in the training ground, or taking on someone's watch. Or when he was sulking because he wasn't invited to help on a field mission. Or even when they were just sitting in his room and talking and he'd get that distant look in his eyes.

She was afraid that eventually, someday, he'd give into it.

Regardless, it was wrong, so so wrong to push that onto him. Even if it was inevitable, it wasn't fair to just outright accuse him, not when they'd been fighting.

But it also wasn't fair that he kept making her worry about it. Felix was hardly ever expressive. He was direct, but not in the right way. He'd go out of his way to tell her that she had twigs in her hair and it looked silly. He'd tell her when she was being oblivious about other staff members or knights flirting with her. He told her often that he liked her singing, often in the same way he said that he liked training. But he'd never tell her how she could make him smile. He'd never tell her what she had done to upset him, eve if it was rather innocuous. He wouldn't even mention when the weight of those they lost began to weigh heavily on him. He wouldn't tell her what she could do to make sure he'd stay.

Trying to understand him was the world's worst guessing game. And, considering that haunting expression, she was failing miserably.

Footsteps came up to her side, slow and cautious. Soft, so probably a student? It was a weekend, so it wasn't as if she had office hours. Or that she was missing a class. Then again, she _had_ always told her students that they could talk to her whenever.

Knowing it would be rude to ignore them, she turned and offered as much of a smile as she could, trying to give a small greeting. But she quickly found her words running dry, leaving her mouth open like a fool.

There was Felix, looking down at the weapons in front of him. His eyes slowly ran over each blade, lips curling as he regarded each one. It wasn't exactly a surprise for him to be drawn to the stall, but he didn't have that look in his eye that he normally got. No tilt of his head, no slight smile. None of that usual attentiveness. He just looked at the stall with the same sort of look he had when he was looking at one of Annette's Faith books.

And then those amber eyes flicked to her. Immediately, heat crawled up her cheeks and she looked away. How long, exactly, had she been staring at him?

"Morning." He said, voice rough and just barely two steps above a whisper.

"G-good morning." She wished her fluster didn't extend entirely into her words, but here she was.

Well, it was good wasn't it, that he was at least talking to her? Not that she really had done much to earn it lately. Especially not because of yesterday.

Fingers brushed against hers, snapping her back to attention and sending her thoughts buzzing. They never held hands in public, he was too sensitive about the whole thing. So it wasn't like he would do it here. Maybe it was his way of apologizing, or trying to make sure she still wanted to be with him, or--

He pulled her satchel out of her hands, slinging it over his shoulder.

He wasn't reaching for her. He looked down at her like she was no different from one of his students, or other coworkers, or anything like that. Not even the slightest trace of a smile. Her heart, that had so quickly been put to a rabbit's pace, slowed back to normal. While her cheeks felt warm, they were no longer hot.

Still, she tried a small smile. "We should, um, get going, right?"

  
  


A tactician would be impressed. Not at Felix and Annette--no, they had come in overconfident and perhaps not as wary as they should have been--but with the bandits. It was practically textbook: the minor groups had banded together, each group small and insignificant, but bonded under one color. Distributed across the area sparsely enough where any observer would think them just one minor band. But even small groups were a problem when all swarmed together like a hive of bees the moment there was any threat.

It had forced Annette and Felix on the defensive, very nearly back-to-back. Forced them to push aside their irritation and awkwardness and fall back into the comfortable flow that they had always relied on. Annette slung Saggitae and Excalibur spells, keeping as many as she could at a distance. Crusher was necessary against those who came too close, but that was far and few between--Felix was quick and merciless against any who came in range, his blade efficient in its kills.

Wind flew from her fingertips, slicing through the latest bandit like he were no more than paper. She wished her breathing were that smooth. No, instead Annette was panting, exhausted. Gasping for air when she had to swing Crusher again-- _how_ long had it even been since she actually had to use it?

It almost felt like she was a student again, inexperienced and unprepared for battle. Using too much energy for something that had once been so simple and straightforward.

Her attention shifted to an approaching bandit. Far more cautious than the others, trying to approach in a way that wouldn't garner much notice compared to the other assaults. But he was big, really big. And she was pretty sure that insignia on his coat meant he was one of the leaders (co-leaders?).

But she was a big girl. She could handle it. Besides, she had enough strength for one more Saggitae, maybe another high level spell. If she angled it right, maybe she could hit two at once. Symbols flicked at her fingertips--just a little more . . .

And then her arm was forced down, snapping her concentration in two. In moments, that familiar coat and those familiar shoulders blocked the path between her and the bandits, Felix's firm grip pulling her more behind him. A nearly-glowing amber eye looked down at her. Not cold, or angry. Just Felix.

"I'll handle this." He said, not even waiting for her nod before he charged off.

She dropped her hand to her side, glancing around the field. It looked like there were maybe a handful of men left, the rest dead or dying in the dirt. The numbers dwindling more and more with each passing minute, with every swing of Felix's blade.

He really was something to watch. Annette had absolutely no doubt that he'd be able to handle them all within the hour. And clearly they knew that, too, with the way they were starting to charge him. A little late for that, really. There was no way that he'd get out with anything more than a scratch and a bruise when the deed was done.

Even knowing that, though, she wanted to help. But any more wind or gales would likely get her swept up in the storm, the spell backfiring on her fantastically. There was enough light magic left in her to know she could handle a spell or two, but those were far stronger. There was no guarantee that he wouldn't get hit in the process.

She didn't want to risk it. Couldn't risk it. So she was delegated to watching--hoping that one of them might come at her just so she could take one off Felix's plate.

A glimmer caught her attention. Mostly because it was far out of the range of battle--sure their fight had moved considerably from the start, but that was mostly a natural instinct among fighters, just to avoid tripping over the dead while in combat--and that area had been wiped out hours ago.

Still, glowing things weren't normal. She took a couple of steps--but that was all it took. That glow rang familiar quickly, as did the radiating black light, the swarm of shadows--

"Oh . . ." She breathed, watching as a human form twisted into something far larger and darker and more intimidating. And absolutely furious.

A last resort. A way to annihilate anyone who had dared to challenge them. Something that might actually be capable of it. And something whose attention was not on her.

Her head snapped to Felix's direction, hoping he had noticed. But he hadn't. He was too busy examining the bodies of the men he'd slain, smiling to himself in that (normally) endearingly prideful way.

She could scream, but he wouldn't react in time. Or wouldn't react right. Or maybe couldn't even hear her over the wind and the sound of blood rushing in his ears. So she ran. She could hear the hard footsteps of the creature not far off. Still behind her, still slower--if only marginally. Not enough to avoid feeling that hot breath at her back, feel the growls vibrate in her bones.

Every one of her gasps burned in her chest, but she only had one chance.

She wasn't far off when Felix finally looked in her direction. Attention on the giant thing behind her, and then snapping to her. Expression panicked in a way she'd never seen before.

Not that it mattered. Lysithea had taught her, once, a spell meant to be used in emergencies. She wasn't much good at it, but she didn't need to be. It just needed to work _once_.

She ran into Felix with a soft _thud_ , hand pressed against his shoulder. "Sorry." She gasped, breaths uneven.

She didn't even let him respond before she warped him far enough away to be safe.

The beast hit her back _hard_ , not slowing, not hesitating--impervious to any possible obstacle of her presence--sending her flying. Pain reverberated through her body when she finally made contact with the floor. Everything hurt, throbbed, pounded. Trying to move her hand--even just trying to breathe--hurt in a way nothing else ever had. The darkness overwhelming her vision was crushing her.

Before it overwhelmed her completely, she was sure she could hear Felix scream her name.

  
  


"Annette."

Annette reflexively twitched, sending an ache up her whole body. Still, she plastered on a smile, turning a little--the very movement a half-body action because goddess help her she still couldn't quite manage moving like a normal person. "Feliiiiiiix, hi!"

She really didn't have to look to know he'd be scowling at her, arms crossed. Potentially a foot tapping. Looking just confirmed that, _plus_ a very very tightly clenched fist in his sleeve.

It was definitely harder to keep her smile going.

"Why are you out here?" His words were more statement than question, and definitely all irritation. It was a miracle he hadn't gone into full blown anger yet. Of course, knowing his target was in bandages from the neck down to her hips was a pretty good mitigation. It didn't prevent his rather blistering scowl, though. "You should be in bed."

"Well," She _did_ have a rather good excuse prepared initially, at least when she had first started to take her walk. His glaring shattered it, making her struggle to pick through the fragments. "I was feeling okay. And it's _really_ hard having to stay in bed all day. So I just figured I'd--"

"Walk where no one can see you." Yep, judging by his tone, he was a lot angrier than he was letting on. "Without telling anyone."

Well, if she told anyone, then she wouldn't have been allowed to go out. That much was obvious. But she was pretty sure that wouldn't placate him.

" _Annette_."

Well, time for a distraction. "Well, I did come up with a new song!" That always worked. It always got him to relax, to take a moment to breathe. Reasonably, then, it would get him to fret less over her. "It's about walking. I've only got a few lines, but, do you want to hear it?"

His hand clenched tighter on his sleeve, looking like he was just about to tear the fabric. Which meant that he was definitely, absolutely--"No."

She gaped. "No? But, Felix, it's a new one! You'd be the first one to--"

"I said no!" His tone was harsh, devoid of even a speck of questioning. "How stupid do you have to be?!"

She flinched, not from his anger, but because he was right. She'd been foolish. She just wanted to go out, just wanted to be able to sing and dance and be back to her normal self. Being stuck and useless was, well, agonizing. Tears welled in her eyes, and her voice cracked out an " _I_ \--"

But even that was too much, sending her into a coughing fit. The coughs weren't particularly violent, but even so, every cough made her body feel like it was just one step closer to falling into pieces.

Immediately, arms wrapped around her--not firm, but solid enough to be present. Felix ran a gentle hand ran slowly up and down her back, deftly avoiding where the damage was still significant. Annette dug her fingers into his sleeves, pressing her face against his shoulder as she tried to stifle her own coughs.

"Slow breaths." He muttered, warm breath shifting the hair tucked behind her ear. She could feel his breathing fall into a different rhythm-- _her_ rhythm--and she struggled to emulate it through her coughs and pathetic sniffling. "Easy."

She nodded against his shoulder, wincing at one particularly violent cough. Gradually, they began to slow their pace. There was one second without a cough. And then five seconds. And, slowly, she could start to breathe properly again. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on his rhythm, trying to fall back into it.

Felix tapped a finger under her chin, silently asking her look to up. With some reluctance, she complied, still sniffling. His thumb brushed over her cheek in soothing circles, wiping away the tears there and at the corner of her eyes. Tentatively, she glanced up so her eyes could catch his (after all, he was probably still mad, if she had to guess).

He was still frowning, but not quite scowling. His eyebrows were pinched, but not really in an angry way. It almost seemed like he was searching for something on her face, even though she wasn't really sure he'd find anything except an exceedingly flushed redhead who looked like she hadn't slept for a week.

"We should go back to your room." Felix said, voice almost as gentle as the palm that now cupped her cheek. He smiled, just barely, when she leaned into it. "You shouldn't be outside."

"I'm . . . fine." She muttered, swallowing down the ache in her throat.

"I'm not above carrying you back." He said, just a trace of teasing in his tone.

She nuzzled against his hand, one petulant sniffle letting out. "Maybe you should, then."

He shifted, hand caressing her lower back. His lip quirked up into a smirk. "Would you prefer sack of flour, or bag of soil?"

Annette flushed immediately. "Felix!"

He chuckled, the very sound a rare delicacy, especially now. He shifted his hand, and, in a fluid moment, scooped her knees from under her and carried her in his arms. "This will have to do, then."

It was a bit awkward, admittedly. One, because his supporting arm was far lower than normal, making it so she had to make a conscious effort to remain upright. Then again, her lower back was the only spot on that expanse that was still mostly unhurt. Two, because he had never carried her like this before--at least not that she could remember. For all intents and purposes, he really could have lifted her like a bag of flour back when she was injured and unconscious. Three, because the combination of the first two points had her flushing red like fire, embarrassment uncontrollable like she was a teen once more.

He, of course, seemed entirely ignorant of the whole thing. "I know this isn't . . . what you expected. Or wanted." He took it slow as he ascended the stairs, careful not to jostle her. "But if you want to get better, you can't just . . . wander off."

"I would have been fine." She muttered, though the excuse itself was pretty lifeless.

"Walking, maybe." He said, shaking his head. "But you can't help but get into things you have no business doing."

Her lips quirked slightly, and she rested her head against his shoulder. "Like what?"

"It wouldn't surprise me if you tried to water the whole greenhouse and wound up having to crawl back to your room. Or tried to move the crates in the training ground and got yourself buried under them. Or tried to help cook the meals in the kitchen and fell into the oven."

She gaped. "I'm not that clumsy!"

"You're bad normally." He said flatly. "You're worse injured."

Well, that was . . .a little fair. She had tried to be good in the infirmary. But she couldn't sleep in there, couldn't find a way to just calm down and relax. She wanted to help clean up the shelves, or help tend to the others, or even help Manuela make some of the medicines--even when she could hardly stand on her own. Being forced to lie down there with such things tantalizing her, well, it was unbearable.

Felix was probably the only reason she had been allowed to stay in her own room now, even though the temptations in there were pretty bad, too. She had no doubt that he had argued on her behalf, and that whatever he told Manuela meant that he was constantly watching over Annette. And, unfortunately, he was _really_ good at that.

" . . . sorry." She muttered.

He grunted in what could barely qualify as a response. Instead, he nodded toward the doorknob in front of them--the only barricade between them and her room. "Door."

"Ah, right." She reached out, but the angle was just wrong. Before she could even turn from him to reach, though, he adjusted, shoulder pressing against the door so she could easily grab it. "Got it."

He hummed, pushing the door the rest of the way, kicking the door shut behind them as he walked inside. Gently, ever so gently, he lowered her to sit on her bed. With a sigh, he knelt in front of her, a hand resting lightly on her ankle.

She didn't fight him as he began to unlace her boots.

"How did you even put these on?" He complained, scowling at the ties. It wasn't like the concept should have been difficult--her boots weren't that much different from his. Though eventually he seemed to figure it out, not glancing up at her as he set each on the far side of the bed.

She sighed. "I'm hurt, not crippled."

He grunted another response.

His attention shifted to her wrists, hands tracing up her arms to unbutton and remove her gloves. He wasn't quite as graceful or careful as he could have been, but at the very least he had the sense to start with each finger. He rather unceremoniously discarded them on his chair. With that, his hands moved up her arms and over her shoulders, falling on the clasp of her shawl. It was a simple click to undo it and place the article with her gloves.

And then his hands rested on her knees. It was strange, when she thought about it. Felix wasn't exactly an _affectionate_ person. He wasn't the sort of person to let touches linger, to act like he might fall apart if he didn't have the comfort of her touch. That sort of thing was confined to those romances that Seteth had liked to confiscate any time they were even remotely in range of the library.

But, lately, it was a bit different. No, he wasn't sneaking kisses or constantly taking her hand in his, or . . . or anything a bit more than that. When she had first awoken in the infirmary, there was no passionate reunion, just a gentle hand resting upon hers. And she thought that might have been it.

But, instead, he took it upon himself to help her dress and undress every day, like he was afraid she'd shatter a rib just from moving. And, when he brought her meals, he often sat on her bed with her, just letting her knee press against his hip. He watched everyone who came in like a knight protecting his queen, looking quite vicious any time someone tried to so much as touch her. When she was tired, he read to her. It was strange, certainly, but not unwelcome.

A part of her wondered if it would have been different if they hadn't been fighting before. Whether that was a good different or bad different, she didn't really want to know.

With a slow exhale, Felix rose again. With an ease that was coming far too naturally for him now, he shifted her legs under the covers, propping her back up against her rather generous pile of pillows.

And then he turned away. He shifted, going to her desk where she knew very well that her medicine was waiting for her. He muttered to himself, scoffing once or twice.

"Hey, Felix?" Her fingers clenched in her sheets. She winced a little when she saw his shoulders stiffen. "Are you mad at me?"

"I . . ." He cleared his throat, shoulders a bit stiffer as he hunched over the table. "I'm not angry."

She glanced away. "You don't have to lie."

Then silence. So he _was_ mad. Not that she could blame him. If it wasn't the fact that she was running off without telling him, then it was the fact that she was careless enough to get hurt in the first place. And if it wasn't that, it was that she volunteered to participate in a battle that she was entirely unqualified for. And if it wasn't that, it was that she had been angry at him just because he wouldn't even consider--

A heavy weight was sat in her lap. She blinked, quickly wiping her face before looking down.

It was a sweet bun trio. Well, actually, three sets of them, piled rather liberally on the plate.

"I'm not the one who has to eat cold pastries." Felix said, sitting on her bed. He turned the plate so that her favorite flavor sat directly in front of her. She didn't even know that he knew her favorite flavor. "Be glad I hadn't ordered sorbet, or you'd have juice for breakfast."

She smiled softly. "You'd make me drink it, too."

He hummed. "I would."

She took a bun in her hand. Yep, definitely cold. And definitely her fault that it was. Well, that only made it taste a little less wonderful. She could deal with that.

He looked away, glancing down at her clothes in his chair. "I was . . . worried."

"Oh." She muttered around a mouthful. "Sorry."

She took a few more bites, the silence settling uncomfortably between them. She hadn't exactly meant to worry him--she just wanted air, wanted to feel like she wasn't trapped in her own skin. But she should have been more considerate. She knew what it was like to be worried--to dwell on what he was doing and how he was. She should have known better than to inflict it on someone else.

He ran a hand through his hair. "I know you want to walk, and sing, and dance. But . . ."

"You don't have to remind me." She sighed, tone somewhat bitter. Manuela had been very clear that, if Annette didn't let herself heal properly, it was very likely that she'd never be able to do those things again. In the worst case, she could possibly still die.

The problem was that, most of the time, she still felt fine. That was, of course, until she tried standing for too long, or wandering too far away from her room, or making her way down the stairs.

His hand found hers, wrapping around it and ignoring the powdered sugar on her fingertips. But he didn't say anything else.

  
  


Annette sighed, settling down into her place in the audience. With absolutely no medical clearance for a month, there was no way she had be able to help Dorothea's musical.

Not that the diva had minded--even though Annette had apologized a hundred times, Dorothea was quite insistent that they would still make it work. That they had plenty of volunteers so--while Annette would still be missed--the show wouldn't suffer.

Which meant Annette was relegated to the audience, supporting them from afar. Well, supporting them in spirit, more like. It wasn't like she actually had any influence on the outcome of the performance, or that it would drive anyone to do any better.

No! She had to be positive. They had all worked hard on this before. And any support was good support. Even Annette had paid for her own ticket, which meant that she was helping the cause! Plus, Felix had been totally okay with her attending, certain that she couldn't possibly get herself hurt while being in the audience.

Of course, it would have been _nice_ if he had actually come with her. But he had been rather insistent that he had a scheduling conflict, and there was no amount of pathetic whining or doe eyes that would convince him otherwise. She eventually had to give up before it turned into another argument.

It was a shame, really. The play was pleasant, the story something even he could appreciate.

_Dorothea is the main character, a queen pining for her lover across the sea: a knight, sworn to protect her off in a war to keep her safe. In the subplot, her handmaiden (Annette's original role), is sending secret letters to her lover, the knight's second-in-command. Informing him of the rising issues at home, of the need for them to return. Her pleas in the soft whispers of song as she writes. And nothing returns._

_And then there's a scene where Dorothea's queen sings for her knight, praying for his safe return. And, after it, one Annette had specially written, where the handmaiden looks at a half-finished letter, singing to her lover like he's still there. Even though she knows her words can't reach him, it's a song of hope, of faith that he'll always know she's waiting for him. That she wants him to come home._

Annette wanted Felix to hear that song. To know that she wrote it for him. But it fell a little flat, with the singer not her, and Felix not there.

_Eventually, war strikes the land, and the knight returns to find his queen and her people captured by the enemy. They are used as tokens, meant to make him surrender. Knowing this, the queen goes to escape, and the handmaiden stays back to give her the time to._

_The handmaiden is captured again, and this time her fate is to be taken to the gallows. To serve as an example for the others. It's impossible for her to escape or be saved, even though her lover tries. He gets captured, and she soothes him by singing a silly song about her always being with him with every swing of his blade, protecting him in every battle. No matter what, she'll always be his. (She gets saved in the end, of course, by her queen, but the audience is supposed to be pretty sure she'll die)._

But the music was wrong, and the cues were, too. The men escorting the handmaiden to the gallows were too slow, the music definitely not the one that's supposed to go with the song. Maybe it's possible they wanted to get rid of that song entirely--finding it excessive or stupid or--

A soldier walked from the opposite end of the stage, dressed in elaborate garb. It was like the soldier's garb of the heroes and knights, but so different. Fabric flowed behind him, fanning with each movement.

Annette stared, transfixed. Her song became a dance.

She watched as the man spun across the field, his sword shimmering with the stage's lights. The battle was perfect in flow, blades clashing in time with the music. Soldiers falling with each thundering boom of the drum. The man, unburdened by his gear, flipped and dodged in a way that bordered on the supernatural. All the soldiers before him fell like they were no more than toys.

And then there was only one man left. He roared in response, drawing his blade as he tossed the handmaiden behind him. The dancing soldier grunted, removing his helmet and dropping it to the floor.

Felix. The soldier was Felix. Sweat glimmered on his brow, but his expression was very nearly serene.

Blades sparked as the men clashed. Shimmered as they swung and missed and charged once more. The fabric and beads of their attire flowed behind them, following each abrupt movement. She couldn't stop watching, couldn't imagine so much as blinking. Annette leaned forward in her chair, transfixed. This would, without a doubt, stick with her at every moment, follow her in her dreams.

It was beautiful, amazing. It was him, doing this for her. His silly, stupid, wonderful way of showing he cared.

When his gaze caught hers and he _smiled_ , she could feel herself blush from head to toe.

The enemy fell, and the lovers returned. Felix didn't have to say anything, dragged along by the handmaiden urgently wanting them to escape, wanting him to be safe. Knowing they'll be safe together. In the background, the melody of her song rang across the stage.

The scene was insignificant, compared to the rest. Logically, the story had to return to the two main lovers. To them reuniting and defeating the enemy, and all that.

But Annette couldn't focus. Her mind kept snapping to his smile, to that look in his eyes. Her heart pounded in her chest, fingers clutching at her dress.

When the curtain fell, she didn't even wait for the end of the applause to try and escape to the lobby. Of course, her injuries had other ideas. It forced her to take it slow, to avoid the push of the other attendees. By the time she got there, the room was already buzzing with activity. People were crowding the actors, begging for their autographs and all that.

She strained to stand on her tip toes, trying to look around the crowd. There was Dorothea. And there were a few other actors--she didn't even try to remember their names, too focused on her objective. Not Felix. Not Felix.

She froze the second she saw him. There he was, looking very nearly smothered by the girls pressing in around him. Even from where she stood, she could hear them crooning, giggling, trying everything to get his attention. Felix was frowning, which was his polite way to avoid a scowl. It was barely working. He jolted back as one woman pulled at his arm.

And it was then that his gaze caught Annette's. Without any hesitation, he pushed past his adoring crowd (always rude, that Felix), taking little time to cross the room to get to her. Any confidence he had in the act, or irritation at his minor audience, quickly seemed to dissolve the closer he came. By the time he stopped in front of her, he was flushed, the blush even reaching the tips of his ears.

"W-what are you doing here?" Annette gasped, not meaning to sound half as surprised as she did.

He cleared his throat. "I, uh, only thought this fair." He muttered, glancing away. "It was my fault you couldn't perform. I wanted to . . . to help."

Annette blinked, words immediately becoming foreign to her. "Felix . . ."

He blushed even darker. "Dorothea suggested this. I--I just wanted to do something to make . . . t-to make this up to you." He glanced at her, only to quickly look away again. "I wanted to make you happy. Or . . . try to."

Completely out of her control, Annette began to cry. She couldn't help it. Everything that had built up, everything that she wanted him to understand--he knew. And she had been so stupid--so so stupid, thinking that he--that he--"You idiot!" She hiccuped, lightly thumping her fist against his chest.

Even through her tears, she could see his expression scrunch up. His head dipped down. "I screwed up, didn't I?"

Without even thinking, she grabbed the silk of his outfit, pulling him down and crashing his lips against hers. Not the brightest move, but she hoped he could get the point. Because she had been missing it for far too long now.

And she was pretty sure he did. His hands rested on her hips, gently--but definitely--pulling her closer into the kiss.

"You idiot." She sighed against his lips, smiling when he tried to close the gap once more. "I _loved_ it." The 'and you' didn't need to be said.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, come bother me on Twitter [@kayisdreaming ](https://twitter.com/kayisdreaming)  
> 


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